


Just How This Would End

by Violsva



Series: Go On Take Everything [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Characters, Case, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Femslash, First Time, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Separation, Sexual Content, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having consulted Sherlock Holmes before, Violet Hunter knows what to expect when she takes a friend to him for help. She is incorrect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now a beautiful [cover](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1956825) for this fic by [Consulting Piskies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingpiskies/pseuds/consultingpiskies)!

The first I heard of it was when Headmistress Martin asked me to cover some of Miss Cameron’s mathematics classes for the last week before half term.

“I am afraid we will have to cancel your private German classes if you do, Miss Hunter, but you, at least, are organized all term,” she said. The German classes were for the small number of motivated girls that requested them; I could easily assign them some reading and take it up after the break.

“But what has happened to Miss Cameron?” I asked.

“She’s received distressing family news,” said Miss Martin. “She is in shock, and staying with her siblings.”

The headmistress would tell me no more, out of respect for Alice’s privacy, and I did not press. Instead I visited Alice as soon as I could. “I’m so sorry I didn't tell you,” she kept saying. We were rather good friends. “I just – I had to leave at once -”

“It’s all right,” I told her. “Do not worry about that.” I patted her hand and pushed a strand of her blonde hair out of her eyes, and she rubbed at her face with her handkerchief and tried to pull herself upright.

“But what will we do?” she asked, not melodramatically but practically. “Robert is only sixteen, and must leave his job now. And Marianne – what can have _happened_ to Marianne?”

I had no answers. Alice Cameron had been supporting her much younger siblings since before I had joined the staff of the school. It had been a good arrangement so long as the next oldest, Marianne, had been home to take care of them more personally. But now Marianne had vanished, with nothing more than a note saying, _Please don’t worry about me. I shall be fine._ The police were looking for her, but with little dispatch – she was of age, and parentless, and had, they thought, clearly left of her own accord, though Alice could not believe that.

All I could do was make Alice tea and ensure that she did not neglect to eat. The schedule was sorted out, more or less, and classes ended without too much difficulty. Alice managed to teach some of her lessons, with a face like death.

I visited her the first day of half term, and her brother Robert took the three younger children out so we might talk. I wanted to cheer her; she should not wear herself out with worry. But I could not suggest anything of the sort – she would only shake her head and start fretting again. Instead I made her tell me all that had happened, though I could not shed much light on the matter.

“She told me nothing,” she said. “I heard nothing, none of the children did. We simply woke up the next morning and she was gone. She took a bag, all her clothes and things, it looks like she wished to go, but if that was so why wouldn’t she have _told_ us, Violet? There’s no way for us to contact her, no information at all – surely she wouldn’t have given us so little!”

I never know what to say at such times, and I had not known Marianne Cameron well enough to say what she would or would not do. I could only nod, and pour tea, and let her talk until she felt at least a little better.

“I know I shouldn’t dwell on it so, Violet, but I can do nothing,” she said at last. “I have been to the police three times, and they say they are looking now but I can’t believe them. But there isn’t anything else I _can_ do.”

Her tone reminded me of my own concerns in another situation, when the police would have been useless but I needed advice. An idea began to form in my head. “There is something,” I said.

“What?” she gasped, hope in her eyes. I felt almost guilty for calling up the emotion when I was not sure my idea had merit, but I told her anyway.

“You can consult Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” I told her.

“Sherlock Holmes?” she said. “The man in the papers? But surely I could not afford it. And it is so small he will not take it. Kings consult him.”

“He might,” I said. “I consulted him once, before I started at Miss Martin’s. It was a very small thing, or so I thought at the start, not nearly so serious as yours. We might at least ask.”

“Do you truly think he might help?” she asked.

“We should try,” I said. I could not look at the hope in her face without trying to do something. “We can send a telegram.”

“Not a telegram,” said Alice. “I couldn't bear waiting and not hearing anything.”

“But then we should have to go in person,” I said.

She hesitated. Then she said, with a little despair in her tone, “If she has not come home yet on her own, she likely won't. I'll ask Miss Martin and Robert to keep a watch, of course, but I know better than to hope, Violet.”

“Oh, Alice,” I said. “It may not be so bad. You must see Mr. Holmes.”

She nodded, lips pressed together. “You must come with me,” she said. “Classes are over. Please.”

I blinked. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I will.”

“Thank you so much, Violet,” she said, taking my hand and gazing at me earnestly. “I should never have the courage to go on my own.”

I blushed a little. Alice is very attractive when she looks at one like that. It was nothing serious I felt, not for her – I knew she was quite normal, and in fact dreamed of a marriage to someone who could support her siblings and prevent her from ever needing to teach again. But I can’t control my reactions, not always.

And so we did. I had no family of my own, and otherwise would likely have remained at the school for the holiday. I had enough savings to rent a room in London, so we should manage for the time – hopefully only a few nights – that we might have to stay. Alice placed her trust in Robert for the care of their siblings. I have never seen another boy of sixteen so responsible, but then my experience of the species is largely limited to the privileged brothers of my pupils in my days as a governess.

On the train Alice could not sit still, and she paced back and forth before me, drawing the attention of the other passengers. At last I pulled her to the seat next to mine and placed my arm about her shoulders. She was worrying herself to no purpose, and I could think of no distraction that would truly cover the dire thoughts she must be having, but at least she should not have to face them alone.

All that was visible of the city as we entered was the backs of houses and factories. Alice, who had never been to London, observed them with little interest between her bouts of worry. When we arrived at the station she stared at the masses of people before biting her lip and turning to me. “Where do we go?” she said.

“We can walk, I believe.” I guided her out of the station to the street. I knew London well enough from when I had lived there, and so we did not have to spend our little money on cabs or even omnibuses. I didn’t want to take Alice on an omnibus, as distressed as she was – we had attracted notice even on the train.

It was not so far, and I recognized the streets soon enough. However, when we reached 221B Baker Street we were met by the housekeeper, who told us firmly that Mr. Holmes was not there.

“When will he be back?” I asked, seeing that Alice looked horrified.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, miss. These cases of his – it might be a day, it might be a month.”

“Oh no,” said Alice.

“Dr. Watson,” I said quickly. “Is he in?”

She raised her eyebrows, and might have recognized me then. “Bless you, miss, Dr. Watson doesn’t live here anymore. Hasn’t for over a year.”

“Then where is he now?” I asked.

The housekeeper’s eyes flicked back and forth between my companion, with her pale wretched face, and myself, no doubt looking quite unfemininely determined. At last she said, “He has a practice near Paddington Station. But don’t you go bothering him outside of his office hours.” She gave us his address, however, and I thanked her and pulled Alice away.

It was not so very far away, though city walking is never easy on one’s feet. We came in a little time to a small, neat brick house with a brass plate next to the door announcing that we were in the right place. I knocked with rather more courage than I felt – I remembered the doctor, but there was no particular reason he would remember me, especially if he was no longer working with Sherlock Holmes.

The door was opened by a blonde woman about my age, with a sweet but angular face. She didn’t look at all like a servant, though she smiled and said, “Yes?”

“We’re here to see Dr. Watson,” I said.

“The doctor’s out, I’m afraid. Dr. Anstruther, next door, will see you.” She began to close the door, and I put out my hand.

“It’s not a medical matter,” I said. “We were hoping that the doctor would be able to get a message to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, or at least know where he is.”

“Oh,” she said, startled. “Well, John does know where he is, because he’s with him. They’re both in Kent, but I’m afraid it’s a very urgent matter, and I don’t know when they will be back. Even if I sent a message, I think the case will take priority.”

“Oh no,” said Alice, worn down by the grind of too much rejection. “Oh no, oh no, oh no...”

I turned to her in worry. She was chalk white, and her hands were tightly fisted in her skirt. She had dropped her bag. I placed my hand on her shoulder and said, “Alice,” but she did not look at me.

“Oh dear,” said the woman at the door. “Why don’t you come in so she can sit down?”

“Thank you very much,” I said, wrapping my arm around Alice’s shoulders. “Come in, Alice. Just walk this way.”

The woman – she must, I thought, be the lady of the house – lent a hand, and together we got Alice settled in an armchair, and our hostess rang for tea.

“You are Mrs. Watson?” I asked absently, chafing Alice’s hand between my own.

“Yes,” said our hostess. “It is the parlourmaid’s afternoon off, you see. Alice,” she said, catching my friend by the shoulders. “I need you to breathe for me. Inhale, now.”

Slowly we managed between us to get Alice only gasping a little instead of still and staring in shock. About then the cook brought the tea and cold water Mrs. Watson had ordered and these helped more. At last, shaking slightly, Alice leaned back in her chair and said, “I am so sorry.”

“No need,” said Mrs. Watson. “Truly, I know you could not help it. But it was a good instinct to look for the doctor when you could not find Mr. Holmes. How did you think of it? No one else has come here for that reason, that I know of.”

“Violet thought of it,” said Alice.

“I consulted Mr. Holmes some years ago,” I explained. Mrs. Watson raised her eyebrows in interest, and I said, “Oh, I am so sorry. I am Violet Hunter, and this is Miss Alice Cameron.”

“Mary Watson,” she said. “What were you consulting him for? My husband has told me of some of their cases together.”

“I was thinking of taking a position as a governess, but my employer made a rather strange request. It turned out I was right in being concerned, but I had no suspicion of how right until Mr. Holmes cleared it up.”

“I hope you were not harmed?” she said.

“No. It was my employer’s daughter, you see – she looked like me, and he wished to make it seem from a distance that I was her, when in fact he had imprisoned her in her room.”

I felt I was rather muddling the explanation, but Mrs. Watson said, “Oh! I think John told me of that case. There was a dog, wasn’t there?”

“Yes. I remembered the doctor because he was the one who shot the beast, and because he was so kind.”

“He is,” she said, smiling. “I was a governess before my marriage, you know. I was quite glad I had managed to find a position in the city, with an employer I was fond of.”

“That is lucky,” said Alice. “I am so glad to be at a school, and able to stay near my siblings and to have some freedom from dependency on a single family.”

“It is hard to find a good position,” said Mrs. Watson. “After my father’s death I was left quite alone in the city.”

“And you can never truly know anything about a family before you are all at once asked to live in their midst,” I said. That was rather how I felt about husbands as well, though I did not say it.

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Watson. Then she turned to Alice. “Why have you come for Mr. Holmes, then? Is it something at the school?”

“No,” said Alice, “it’s my sister. She’s gone. She left, and there was a note, but it said so little, and she told us nothing, and I have no idea where she is.”

“Oh, my dear. I wish I could help you,” said Mrs. Watson. “I will wire them, if you wish. But if this current problem of his is not finished, Mr. Holmes will not return. I know it; I’ve tried to summon John back before.”

“What shall we do?” said Alice, wilting, though she did not return to her earlier panic.

“We could engage a room and wait,” I said. “I know of a ladies’ boarding house nearby. We can stay until the end of half term at least; we will manage.”

There was a ring on the bell. “Do excuse me,” said Mrs. Watson. “Good heavens, we aren’t this popular during John’s office hours.”

She rose to answer the door. There was a murmured conversation. Alice stared at the fire and said nothing.

Mrs. Watson reentered holding a telegram and glowing. “John and Mr. Holmes are finished with the case,” she said. “They shall return tomorrow morning.”

“Oh!” said Alice, smiling for the first time since we had arrived in London.

“You see, it will likely all go well,” I said. “We should go to a boarding house, then.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Watson. “It is only one night. You can stay in the guest room.”

“Oh, we can’t,” said Alice and I, more or less simultaneously. 

“I won't hear of anything else,” said Mrs. Watson. We could not convince her otherwise, and therefore we had dinner with her as well. She was charming and intelligent, and we naturally had a great deal in common from our similar lives. She clearly paid attention to news and science and her husband’s work, and a teacher must have at least an idea of such things, and so she and I managed to keep Alice’s mind off her distress. I wondered, though, at Mrs. Watson’s eagerness to talk – if her husband was often absent, perhaps she was starved for conversation, and had few friends -

I stopped that line of thought at once. I knew better.

After dinner we talked further, and failed to interest Alice in games or much other entertainment. At last Mrs. Watson told her how she herself had consulted Mr. Holmes, and I did as well, and we more or less convinced her that she had nothing to be afraid of.

It grew late quicker than I had expected. Mrs. Watson rose as soon as Alice appeared tired, and showed us the spare room – a little small, but with large windows, and spotlessly clean. “Will you be retiring now as well, Miss Hunter?” she asked, and I nodded.

“It was a long journey, and I hope she will come with me in the morning,” said Alice.

“Yes,” Mrs. Watson said. “You are very close.”

It seemed almost like she might mean more than she was saying, and I hesitated in answering. Alice, with no such considerations, said, “Very close, for such a short time.”

“We’ve only known each other since I started at Miss Martin’s,” I said. “But I hate to see her unhappy.”

“Of course,” she said. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.” Mrs. Watson held my gaze after I spoke for a little longer, before turning, as if she wanted to say something but did not know what. I did not speak, but I smiled, and let her look away first.

And so Mrs. Watson went to her empty bed and Alice and I to the spare room. Alice fell into sleep almost at once, and I curled up with my back to her, listening to her breathing, and the servants retiring, and the sounds of London outside the window. I did not sleep for a long time, thinking of the house, with its five women all – so far as I knew – separate and alone, each in her own way.


	2. Chapter 2

When Alice and I were awakened by the maid’s tap at our door, she told us Dr. Watson had already arrived home. We dressed and went down to breakfast quickly, but found Mrs. Watson alone at the table.

“John has gone to tell Mr. Holmes about you,” she said. “Come sit down.” I think that Alice did not hear the slight strain in her voice.

After breakfast, Mrs. Watson said, “I am sure you will want to see Mr. Holmes as soon as possible,” and Alice agreed, but she was dreadfully nervous. I would have let her go alone, but she grabbed my hand and begged me to come as well.

It was all very familiar. My hair had grown back to nearly the length it had been when I first requested Holmes’ guidance, and the housekeeper let us in with the same smile she had had then, and added some praise for my resourcefulness. In the sitting room at the top of the stairs Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson were seated by the fire, and both rose to great us. The doctor appeared completely unchanged from the last time I had seen him, though he seemed a little worried; Mr. Holmes, if he had changed at all, had only grown thinner and sharper.

“Miss Hunter,” said the detective, smiling a little at me. “I am glad to see you well, and, I trust, quite recovered from your time at the Copper Beeches?” I nodded. “Mrs. Watson warned us you would call. You, I presume, are Miss Cameron?”

“Yes.”

“And missing your sister. Well, it seems even the British public school provides grist for our mill, Watson.” His face looked a little wry, perhaps, but he leaned forward and appeared to give Alice all his attention. “Do tell me the details, Miss Cameron, just as you yourself found out about them.”

“Yes. Well, I have been a teacher at Miss Martin’s school in Walsall for nearly ten years, since I was a student there myself. My parents passed away soon after I started teaching, and I have been supporting my five younger brothers and sisters. Marianne, the next oldest, is twenty-one, and she took care of the younger ones and the household as much as she could, until two weeks ago.

“Two weeks ago, Mr. Holmes, Marianne was not in her bed when the rest of us awoke. This note was on her nightstand. It is her handwriting, and she took a suitcase, but she told us nothing before leaving, and we have heard nothing of her since.”

Mr. Holmes examined the note carefully. “The paper is your own?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Thank you. Yes, it certainly seems to have been written by a young woman, in much excitement. Not fear, though. She was rather liberal with the ink. _She_ didn’t attend your school, did she?”

“Only for a year, before our parents died. There wasn’t money for it, afterwards.”

“Quite so. What do you know of your sister’s friends and acquaintances? Did you see much of them?”

“No, I am so often away. But my brother says she never brings anyone home, but goes out to see her friends. She doesn’t talk about them. It is not very often, though; she has so little time. I wish it were not so; she is very sociable when she can be.”

“Has there been any change in that recently?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Holmes. I think so, but I cannot tell if it is merely my imagination, now that she is gone. She seemed excited and happy for the last month, but I see her so little that I cannot say there was any true difference. Robert, my brother, says he thought she was happy. I do wish I knew more of her life, but I have been working so much.” I placed my hand over hers.

Mr. Holmes nodded. “So there is little you can tell from that direction. If she was in trouble, is there anyone she would go to outside of your household?”

“None of us have anyone else, Mr. Holmes.”

“Where would she _want_ to go, then?”

“Well,” said Alice, “London. She loved the idea of living in London, and read all the London papers and magazines she could find. That is part of why I came here.”

“Yes. Miss Cameron, I understand your concern, but surely it seems most likely that your sister has left of her own accord, and does not wish you to follow her?”

“Holmes,” said Dr. Watson, frowning.

“I know it does,” said Alice. “And though I love Marianne I am afraid it would not be out of character for her. But Mr. Holmes, even if she doesn’t want to see me I need to know she is safe. And though she might have wanted to run away before, _now_ she may find that – Mr. Holmes, you know what might have happened to her. And even if it has, she is still my sister and I want to be able to help her if she needs it. Please.”

Holmes continued to frown after this plea, though, it seemed to me, more in thought than in annoyance.

“All right,” he said at last. “Miss Cameron, I do not believe that your sister is in serious danger. But, if you wish, I will find her, if possible. But I can give you no certainty that she will want to be found.”

“I do know that. But, oh, thank you, Mr. Holmes, so very much.”

“Hm. Have you a photograph of her?”

“Yes, I brought one.” She pulled it from her purse and handed it to him. “It is two years old, but she has not changed much. I – I do have another print of this at home.”

“Thank you. I shall endeavour to return it nevertheless. Now then, we shall start in London, since it is both most convenient and most likely. I have my own ways of searching. I hope they shall prove fruitful quickly, but if not we shall look to other methods. Are you staying in London for some time?”

“The rest of the week.”

“Then send us word of where, and as soon as we know more you will be informed. If it takes longer we shall get word to you in Walsall. Is there anything else you think to be of use?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you may await my telegram.” He turned to write a note at a side table.

“By the way,” said Dr. Watson, smiling at us, “my wife asked me to tell you that you are both welcome to visit whenever you like. She doubtless said the same herself.”

“She did,” said Alice.

“Then believe her,” said the doctor, smiling.

Alice and I found a room at Mrs. Yeats’ boarding house. I had stayed there before, and while it was by no means pleasant it was cheap and clean, and the landlady minded her own business. Not, I supposed, that that mattered on this stay.

But waiting in such a place clearly wore on Alice’s nerves, and waiting with her was nearly as bad as waiting to hear from employment agencies. I took her walking through the entire nearby area every day after seeing Mr. Holmes, trying to keep her from thinking about her sister. We would only be in London for a few days, and I knew that she thought it impossible that we would hear anything before we had to leave again.

She went with me readily enough, but caught up in her thoughts she did not speak much. She did not want to be drawn into conversation, so I mostly kept quiet and found myself lost in thought as well.

I was not, I regret to say, worrying over Alice, or Marianne. I was thinking about Mr. Holmes, and Dr. Watson, and Mary Watson. I can’t say what I thought of them, then – I have seen too much of them since, and cannot remember now what I noticed originally, or whether I really saw any foreshadowing of what later happened.

It had rather surprised me, that Mrs. Watson had met her husband by consulting them. They must see any number of young women in trouble of one sort or another – what had drawn Dr. Watson to her specifically? But I couldn’t ask that, any more than I could ask why Mr. Holmes was so far proof against such attachments.

Well, it was certainly understandable that he should be drawn to her, capable and compassionate and wise as she was. And there I know I stopped myself. But I did turn to Alice and ask, “Would you like to visit Mrs. Watson? She did ask.”

She agreed, and we turned toward Paddington. My feet turned down the streets as if I had already memorized the way. Along the street we went, past a number of stolidly respectable doctors’ and lawyers’ practices.

As we approached Dr. Watson’s steps his door opened and he stepped out himself, settling his hat on his head. He turned and caught sight of us and smiled.

“Miss Hunter, Miss Cameron,” he said. “Good afternoon.” We made our greetings and mentioned we were taking advantage of his invitation.

“Good,” he said. “Mary will be glad to see you.” He took his leave, with a little more haste than I might have expected.

Mrs. Watson was sitting in her parlour staring into space, but she focused on us at once and rose, saying, “Oh, I am so glad you came. Do come sit down.” When we had she picked up her embroidery again and asked us how we found London, and very shortly we were talking of all the sights in the city nearby or where she used to live. I let Alice speak, mostly, for it seemed likely to take her mind off her troubles. But Mrs. Watson smiled so and I could not stop looking at her.

Time slipped past easily. We must have been there nearly an hour when the bell rang, and our hostess jumped. “Sorry,” she said, blushing. In a moment the parlourmaid came in.

“Telegram, ma’am,” she said. “But it’s for your guest, I think.”

“For – who is it from?” Mary took the slip of paper. “Oh. Well, of course.”

She handed it to Alice, who glanced at it for only a second before her face was transformed by hope. She tried to speak, then shook her head and gave it to me. _Your sister likely found – come to Baker Street tomorrow. - Holmes._

It was such a very laconic message that I hesitated, lest it turn out that her sister had been found somewhere terrible, but Alice had the sense to know that. She showed no false hopes, only a decided eagerness to leave at once.

“Whatever the outcome may be,” she said. “I will _know_ , thank heavens. Of course I hope she is well, but -” she firmed her jaw “- I will manage.”

She barely managed to be polite before pulling me out the door, but Mrs. Watson clearly took no offence at all. We walked, however, rather than talking a cab or even an omnibus. Emotions must be limited by economy.

Mr. Holmes’ door was answered by his landlady, who smiled at us and said, “I hope he’s agreed to help you?”

“He has,” I said. “Is he in?”

“He is, and Dr. Watson as well.” She stood aside to let us into the hall.

“Yes, I know, we’ve just come from visiting Mrs. Watson.”

“Oh, have you?” She smiled. “I remember her. Fine young lady.”

“Yes, she’s very kind.”

“She is.” The landlady shook her head and pressed her lips together. “A very sweet woman.”

“Is she well?” asked Alice. “She seemed so.”

“Yes, so far as I know.” She glanced up the staircase. “Poor things. Well, you’ll be wanting to see Mr. Holmes, then. Up you go.”

I heard voices faintly as I approached, and stopped for a moment because I thought one said my name.

“- what I am drawn to,” snapped Mr. Holmes, clearly the end of a sharp speech. I knocked quickly. I had not been brought up to listen at doors. Mr. Holmes opened it, and bowed us in. Dr. Watson was in the middle of the room, one hand to his face, but he quickly lowered it and smiled in welcome.

“Here they are,” said Mr. Holmes as we entered. “Watson told me you were visiting his wife, and I admit I suspected you would not want to wait another day. Miss Cameron, I had hopes that your sister would be persuaded to visit us here, but it seems that we must instead go to her.”

He might have continued, but Alice interrupted. “So you have found her! Where is she? Is she well?”

“Well enough,” said Mr. Holmes. “As to where, I’ll send for a cab, and we’ll all go. That is, if you wish, Doctor.”

“Of course,” said Dr. Watson, as Holmes called down the stairs for his poor landlady. She, or the pageboy, secured a four-wheeler in minutes, and shortly we were all packed in it, as a not-overjoyed cabbie drove us to a neighbourhood which, while it did not confirm my worst suspicions, was not particularly reassuring either.

“How could you find her so quickly?” Alice asked, alternating with equal eagerness between staring out the windows and at Mr. Holmes.

“I have a network of searchers,” said Mr. Holmes. “The young poor of this city, the street beggars and working boys, are the finest observers in England. I showed a group of them your sister’s photograph, and they have been looking for her ever since. As soon as they had a possibility I went to see her to confirm it. I did not want to raise false hopes were they incorrect, but luckily they were not.”

“I am glad. I did not want to have to return to Walsall with no idea of where she was or if I would hear from you.”

“He would have sent word,” said Dr. Watson defensively. “But I know it is hard waiting to hear news from a distance.”

The boarding house we arrived at was familiar to me, not because I had seen it before but because I had spent months of my life in a dozen houses of its exact type. The paint on the shutters was flaking off, but the front steps were scrubbed white; the curtains were faded but always present; the sign in the window firmly though ungrammatically proclaimed the house and its lodgers respectable. I saw Alice sigh in relief.

The landlady looked at Mr. Holmes and said, “You’re here for Mrs. Zhang again?”

“Indeed.”

She tutted, frowned at the four of us, and said, “Well, come into the sitting room, then,” with resignation.

I could have drawn the sitting room before I ever set foot in it, the horsehair upholstery, the heavy sun-marked curtains, the threadbare rug. Everything was slightly worn but forbidding of further use. We waited, standing, until Marianne Cameron came in.

“Marianne!” said Alice, running and embracing her. Marianne responded in kind, but Alice pulled back as a man entered the room as well.

“Your landlady called you Mrs. Zhang,” she said.

“Yes,” said Marianne. “This is Edward. Edward, this is my sister.”

Alice stepped back and looked between the two of them, her eyes widening at Edward Zhang’s sleek black hair and almond-shaped eyes. “How was there time?” she asked.

“We got a civil license in Walsall, weeks ago,” said Mr. Zhang. “It is legal, you don’t need to fear that.”

“Marianne,” said Alice. “You told us nothing.”

“You would have stopped me!”

“I would not have. It would not be within my rights to stop you. But you might have stayed near home. You never had to go so far.”

“London is where I want to be, Alice. Not at home, not taking care of children for years. And what would everyone think, what would they say, in that provincial little town? I did not mean to cause you worry, but I will be happy.”

Alice rested her forehead in one hand. “That is what I want for you, of course,” she said. “Marianne, you are simply -” She sighed. “Mr. Zhang,” she said, raising her head and extending a hand. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“Miss Cameron, likewise.” His smile was pleasant, though uncertain.

“I am afraid Marianne has not spoken of you before.”

“I am sorry for it. I am a clerk in a shipping office. When I gained a position in London Marianne and I decided to marry. She told me she had told you that she was safe.”

“She did, but only very generally.”

“He is very sweet,” said Marianne. “We will be happy, Alice.”

“Marianne, do you not understand how worried I was over you? I am so very glad to find you safe, and I am quite ready to believe you about your happiness. But you might have told us.”

“I understand, yes. But you can stay now, and talk, and meet him properly.”

“Thank you.” She sighed again. “Mr. Holmes, thank you so very much for finding her. I am very grateful.”

“My pleasure,” said Mr. Holmes. “Well, I think we have no further business here, Watson. Good afternoon, ladies, Mr. Zhang.”


	3. Chapter 3

We took supper with the Zhangs, though Marianne’s conversation was wanting. Afterwards, I left Alice with her sister, whom she would at least spend the night with before returning to the school. It had started to rain hard; I found a cab back to the boarding house and our rented room. That Marianne Cameron, or Mrs. Zhang now, had left her family, with their crowded friendly house, for a life in dim little rooms like this one, seemed unbelievable. I sat in the single chair near the gas heater and began to brush my hair.

I braided it afterwards, letting the two long plaits fall down my back when I was done with them. It was late by then; I had sat for at least an hour, letting my thoughts be swallowed by the simple repetitive motions. There was a knock on the door.

It was very unexpected – the landlady was not a woman to go out of her way for guests. I rose to my feet and opened the door, wondering if she had some complaint about me.

Mrs. Watson, pale as chalk, stood in the hall with a shawl wrapped around her. I stared for longer than was polite before remembering to say, “Good evening, Mrs. Watson. Do come in. What has happened – what brings you here?”

Mrs. Watson laughed, with a touch of hysteria. I pulled her inside. “Come sit down. Mrs. Watson -”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” she said. “Don’t. Oh God.”

I pushed her into the chair and got her a mug of water, but she shook her head. “Has something happened to your husband?” I asked. Dr. Watson had seemed quite all right when he left with Mr. Holmes, but that was all that made sense. Mrs. Watson leaned back and laughed, with more that a little hysteria this time. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently, and she gasped and recovered.

“I am sorry,” she said. “Very sorry. Yes, something has happened to John. Years before I met him, though. Oh, I was so _happy_ he had such a friend in Mr. Holmes.” Her hands were shaking, and I reached for them. “I am sorry to bother you over this,” she said, seeming not to notice. “I just – all my friends are married, even if unhappily – oh, and I owe Mr. Holmes so much – or I did -”

“What is it?” I asked. “Please tell me. It will help you, I think.”

She looked at me for a second. “I hope I can’t tell you,” she said. “I wish this were in fact unthinkable. You can’t know about it, Miss Hunter, at least. You can’t.”

“I’m sorry?”

“John is in love with Sherlock Holmes,” said Mrs. Watson. “I have left him. He had shocked himself, and he would have tried – oh God. But I could not – not be his penance. I walked out.”

“Oh,” I said. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry, Mrs – Mary.” Though my sorrow for her was heartfelt, it was not a revelation to me, and Mrs. Watson stared at my face.

“You are not – you knew -”

“I did not know about them,” I said quickly, for I hadn’t, apart from what I had thought I had heard in Sherlock Holmes’ voice.

“No – I mean, I thought those things were just in the newspaper, just stories, just a tiny number of – and now they are – and you are not shocked?”

I realized too late that I should have pretended to be. I tried to say what she might have expected me to. “You mean – you mean _in love_? As lovers?”

Her face showed sudden pain. “Yes. But you already knew what I meant. You know of this, you know men like them.”

“No,” I said. “No, I don’t know any. I simply – I have read -”

“Miss Hunter, what on earth do you mean?” asked Mrs. Watson.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It – it merely does not seem so strange to me that – but that is not the point. It is terrible that you have had to leave. I am truly so sorry that you are in such a position. How can I help you?”

“Just – I needed to be somewhere else. And I knew you had a room not so far away, and I did not wish to see Mrs. Forrester or Kate and have to explain – I thought it would be easier to explain it to you. And I suppose it is,” she said, staring at me. “But not how I expected.”

“Of course you are welcome here,” I said.

“Not of course,” said Mrs. Watson. “I intended to rent a room, not to ask you this – but I left in such a hurry – I’ve no money. I can go somewhere else. It is just so late that I thought you might -”

“Of course,” I told her again. “Alice is with her sister: you can stay the night. We won’t tell Mrs. Yeats.”

A weight seemed to drop from my visitor’s shoulders. “Thank you. I did not want to go back out into that rain.”

“Nor should you. It is no imposition.”

“Thank you again. It is very late – you do not mind if I simply -” She waved at the bed.

“Yes, go ahead,” I said. “In the morning you will be able to deal with matters. Nothing is so awful as it looks this late at night.”

She sighed. “I know. I know that truly, John – Dr. Watson will be – will not – but I just can’t think of it now.”

“No,” I said. “I’m going to bed myself. The washstand’s there, and I am sorry for the lack of amenities.”

“No, don’t be,” she said. “It’s quite a nice room compared to some places I stayed, years ago, before I started with the Forresters.”

I smiled and turned my back to remove my dress. When I was in nothing but my shift I lay in the bed, pressing myself against the wall so Mrs. Watson – Mary – I must not think of her as Mary, whatever she said – might have as much space as possible.

She stripped to her chemise as well, though I only knew it by the sound of cloth rustling. Then she blew out the candle and lay down, closer than she needed to be.

We lay there in the dark, neither of us moving an inch, for at least an hour. Then a hand curved around my breast.

“No,” I whispered, frozen. “Mrs. Watson -”

“Please call me Mary. I know who that is. It is true, is it not?”

It was a tangle of pronouns, but I knew what she meant. I could not say it, though.

“There are women like that, as well as men. That’s why you were not surprised.”

“I don’t -”

“You have done it before,” she said. In all this time her hand had not moved. Now it squeezed, not roughly.

“Mary,” I gasped, and then she turned me around and kissed me. Her hand moved to hold my head still and it was too easy to kiss her back. Because of course I had, in servant’s cots and forbidden guest bedrooms and dim, dingy rented rooms like this one. But there had always been hope, then, along with the secrecy and haste. Occasionally there had even been time, and joy. Now it felt as if for Mary there was no hope left in the world, and she was turning to me as a substitute.

I did not try to pull away. When she paused to take a breath I turned my head and bit just behind the smooth angle of her jaw. She moaned and twisted her neck to give me better access.

“Quiet,” I said. “She’ll throw us out.” I licked and kissed my way down the muscle on the side of her neck. She let me kiss her shoulder for a little time, shaking, and then she pulled my face up to hers again. She kissed me once, as hard as before but closed-mouthed, and then she pushed aside the neck of my shift and licked along my collarbone.

“You’re doing this for revenge, not for me,” I said, now that my mouth was released, and apparently my mind with it.

“No.” She shoved herself down the bed and kissed the cloth of my shift where it covered my left breast.

“You knew,” I said. “That’s why you came to me – so you might -”

“No,” she said, looking up at me. “I hoped – I hoped that you were innocent, that you would be horrified. It would have meant that they were not – that it was not – that I did not want you -”

“You cannot have wanted me.”

“I wanted you the moment I saw you,” she said, and her hand pulled up my shift and slid between my pressed-together legs and once she touched me there they opened of their own accord.

Her fingers slipped against me and rubbed, a little randomly, but it was enough for me to need to hold her more tightly. Her mouth on my breast was unbearable and her hips were pushing against my thigh.

She was so far from herself, I thought. Then her fingers pushed into me, two of them. The palm of her hand rubbed against the rest of me. I closed my eyes and let myself forget why she was doing it, and it was too, too good. When she shifted to kiss my lips I kissed her back with everything I had. Her hand kept pushing into me and at last when I couldn’t stand it anymore I gasped, “Bend your fingers.”

She did, and when she saw my reaction she kissed me again, and kept moving, kept – there is no other word – fucking me with her two fingers, kept her hand bent so the heel of it pushed just where I needed it. And all I could do was dig my nails into her shoulders and open my mouth for her tongue.

When I had shaken myself out I pushed her hand away. My motion was more violent than I consciously intended, and it ended with me pressing her arm into the mattress behind her. I pushed her shoulders down flat and kissed her.

“Yes,” she said into my mouth, her hips arching up against mine. My leg had fallen between hers. I kissed her until she was trying to rub her whole body against mine, and then pulled away.

“Oh,” she said, a little disappointed whimper of a noise, and I ducked under the thin blankets and pushed up the soft linen of her shift. My shoulders pushed her thighs to a wider angle, and my fingers between them opened her up. I pressed my tongue against her and she made a soft choking gasp.

I wanted her to remember me. I wanted not to be a tool, a test, a substitute. I made her fall apart very slowly. I made her twist and dig her fingers into the sheets. I made her whine in her throat, a high, constant sound as I licked her. I made her sob, and then I made her hips buck wildly under me and her body shudder against the bed. And then I held her down and did it again.

When I pulled away from her she moved only enough to grab me and throw her entire body around mine, gasping, “Violet – love – oh my dear -” and kissing my shoulders. She held me as she finished shaking and then sighed heavily and nuzzled her face into my chest. I stared at her as her eyes fell shut.

“Mary?” It was not a whisper. It was barely a breath. And though her ear was only inches from my lips, she did not hear. I did not want her to.

I could not move, and eventually my stillness must have turned into sleep.

The next morning I awoke before Mary, but woke her as I moved out of bed. She reached out to clutch at my waist, and then her eyes snapped open. “Violet,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep. I had a moment of relief that she knew me.

“Mary,” I said. “Good morning.” She stretched, and I could not help but watch her figure beneath her shift. She had said – and it meant nothing, of course, but she had said -

“Good morning.” She moved aside to let me off the bed, and we washed and dressed, neither of us quite looking at each other. There was a rap at the door. I gestured quickly for Mary to stay behind it and out of sight as I opened it. It was the servant with the breakfast tray, as I had expected.

Mary ate very little, though I pressed her to. At last she said, “I should go home. I should not have left in the first place. I panicked.”

“You’re going back to him,” I said. There was no expression in my voice; it had happened too often to me for that.

“No,” said Mary, startled. “No, not when – no. But we must work out something, he and I. I will need my clothing, at the very least.”

She had leaned across the table after her first denial. I looked at her and found I could not speak. It was too early to say what I wanted to say.

“Will you come?” said Mary. It was so close to the words I had been trying not to utter that I jumped.

“What?”

“Come with me, to see him. I don’t want to ask it of you, but I want someone else there. Not that he would be – not that there would be any difficulties. Merely that I want -” She sighed, and slumped in her chair. She took in a deep breath. “Please?”

“Of course,” I said. “Of course, anything you like.”

I did not exactly regret that promise when we walked into Mary’s house, but I was not at all comfortable. There were hurried footsteps above, and Dr. Watson descended the stairs.

“Mary,” he said, but he slowed when he saw her face. He turned to me and added, “Miss Hunter.” Behind the mechanical politeness there was a trace of confusion in his voice.

“Doctor,” I said, and all at once I felt my face flush scarlet. It is an inconvenient product of my redheaded complexion, and usually I can control it. But his attention was not on me, anyway.

“Mary,” said Dr. Watson, “you must know -”

“I do,” said Mary quietly. “I am still set, John. I can’t stay. You shouldn’t stay. I am simply here to get my things, and so we can determine what to do next.”

Dr. Watson paled. “You intend to sue for a divorce, then.”

Mary stared at him. “No,” she said. “No. Certainly not.”

I knew why not, and certainly I did not want for any of them the sort of ruin that would inevitably come from that. I would have advised her against it, had she asked. Yet it was all I could do to keep my face impassive.

“Oh, thank God,” Dr. Watson breathed.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Their faces showed the same sadness and resignation, and something else. Love, still, of course.

“I simply can’t continue this, if you do not want it, if you are not in fact _present_ in it,” said Mary. “Surely you feel the same way?”

Dr. Watson raised one hand to his face. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. But can we talk of the details some other time?”

“Of course,” said Mary. She turned to the staircase.

“Wait,” said the doctor. “You should stay. I can go and – go. I was already packing; I intended to leave. This is your home as much as mine.”

“Your practice is here,” said Mary. “You bought this house. I couldn’t, anyway. I’ll go find my things.”

She hurried up the stairs before he could say anything else, and we went to her bedroom and began to pack a case. Mary attacked her wardrobe with a sort of determined focus that I suspected meant she was trying very hard not to think of anything but the task at hand. I did not distract her. I emptied drawers of her stockings and shifts and other simple things that would require no sorting first.

She quickly piled and folded skirts and waists and dresses in the suitcase, leaving most of the richer ones where they were. When it was almost full she shut the wardrobe and dresser drawers and stopped, all at once, as if she’d been dropped. She looked around the room slowly, as one does when leaving somewhere and wanting to be sure everything is packed, but she was trying not to truly see anything in front of her.

“My pearls,” she said, and she walked to a boudoir table that held a jewellery chest. She hesitated, then took the entire box.

She paced restlessly around the room a few times, occasionally snatching things off shelves. At last she dropped everything into the case, slumped onto the bed, and said, “I have forgotten – there is still everything else. My books.”

“It may be easier for you to come back later,” I suggested, “if you have everything you need for a while.”

“Yes, of course.” She took a deep breath. “Violet. Where can I go?”

“A hotel, or a ladies’ boarding house. I believe Mrs. Yeats will have a room free.”

“No, I mean permanently.”

“Don’t think about that until you have had a little time to yourself.”

“I suppose, yes.” She sighed, looking so lost, and I wanted – and I could. I stepped closer, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, and she leaned against my chest and reached up to hold me back. We stayed so for some time, my head bent to hers. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to give her help, compassion, support.

I wished I could have thought only of her. But I also wondered – hoped – wanted a future. I had been so alone, for so long, with only quick casual meetings with other women of my kind, and now someone had sought me out for comfort, when she could have gone to anyone. And I _liked_ her, liked her so well and could talk to her and wanted her in every sense.

At last she pulled away and glanced up, all lovely angles and large pleading eyes, her skirts half caught beneath her. “You – I suppose you will be going back to your school soon?”

“This evening, in fact. I must pack, and give Mrs. Yeats notice.”

“Of course. I – I can finish things here, and then – can I meet you after?”

I barely stopped myself from gasping with pleasure. “Yes, of course. Where?”

She looked hesitant, then said, “Regent's Park? By the lake.”

“All right.” I smiled at her, set a time, and left. I was a little nervous, but did not allow myself to feel it. I would see her again.


	4. Chapter 4

I returned to the boarding house and packed quickly. It was not difficult, given how little I had brought. Alice, I assumed, would return for her own possessions later, and we had paid in advance, so there was nothing more to be done. I left a note for her, telling her where I would be, but she would be staying with her sister one more day before she had to return.

I realized that it was an hour before Mary and I had agreed to meet, but I shook my head and walked to the park anyway. It would be no hardship to wait there, on a pleasant day.

I found myself walking up Baker Street on the way. I had sufficient knowledge of the geography of the city, but I hadn’t quite realized where my feet would take me. Now, I could take in my surroundings, for once not focused on my own troubles as I walked up the street, and I glanced about like any tourist.

My surroundings included Mr. Holmes. He turned out of a tobacconist’s, looking a little agitated but mostly blending in with the rest of the activity on the street. He froze as he saw me, however, and though he tipped his hat politely enough he lifted a hand to stop me.

“Miss Hunter,” he said, “what a surprise.”

“Mr. Holmes,” I replied. I had not expected more than a moment's recognition, but he looked me up and down quickly and remained still.

“Miss Hunter,” he said, “will you do me the courtesy of taking tea with me?”

I was entirely amazed, and I stammered out that I had an appointment to make.

“Then let me walk with you?”

“Yes, all right.”

He turned to walk alongside me, and I tried not to stare at him. I had, I realized, thought of him more as a device than a human being, until Mary’s revelations of the night before. Now I realized that he was in fact human, though still in possession of his preternatural skills. He might know about nearly everything that had happened, and he would of course have opinions on it. It was almost terrifying – it would have been, had it not been for the clear sympathy in his eyes.

“Whom are you meeting?” he asked, though I suspected it was solely for politeness’s sake.

“Mrs – Mary Watson,” I said, stumbling a little over the correct form of address for her. “In Regent’s Park.”

“Indeed?”

I looked straight ahead. If he wanted to say something he could say it himself.

“Is she well?” he tried.

“Have you spoken to Dr. Watson?” I asked.

“He has telegraphed.”

“Then she is as well as can be expected under the circumstances.” I bit my lip. “I hope he is too?”

He might have been amused. “As much as can be expected, under the circumstances.”

We had crossed into the park now, and I turned to follow the path around the lake. Mr. Holmes might have bid me farewell then, but I turned to him on the spur of the moment and said, “I wish you luck.”

His eyebrows raised, then he smiled. I had thought I had seen him smile before, but this was not the comforting charming smile he must, I realized, give to all his female clients. This was surprised, and genuine.

“And the same to you.” He frowned into the distance, and any happiness that might have been on his face left rather suddenly. “Though it does not seem likely that I will benefit from it for long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not a fool, Mr. Holmes,” I said.

“No,” he said, “you aren’t. Say rather that it will do you no good to know. I think, Miss Hunter, that I owe you a favour. I shall do my utmost to ensure that I can repay it.”

“Oh, you owe me nothing – surely!”

“Then simply remember that you can ask.”

“What I mean is, I am now even more in your debt.” I blushed. I rarely spoke of such things to a third party, and never to men.

“Not at all,” he said. “Good afternoon, then.”

“Good afternoon.”

He walked quickly out of the park and turned a corner and disappeared. I stopped myself from staring after him for longer than that.

I walked around the lake three times before sitting on a bench at one side of it. Shortly after, Mary came up along the path, smiling as soon as she saw me. I nearly rose to run to her when I saw her expression, but kept myself seated and simply smiled back when she approached and sat next to me. I took her hand.

“I am all packed,” she said. “Violet, I still don’t know quite what I am to do now.”

“You have not told me exactly what happened. If you do not mind speaking of it, I mean.”

She sighed.

“I don’t know what happened with him and Mr. Holmes, before he returned home. He said he had to be honest with me, that he was so sorry for hurting me. He said he had not realized the truth until just that day. He said he loved Holmes, that he was not entirely natural in his affection, that it had shocked him and he was so sorry if it had shocked me. He said he would stay with me, though. He said he would stop seeing Holmes, he would stay with me and give me what I ought to have. He said that we would start over, we would make this a proper marriage, everything would be as it had been before and as it ought to be. He said I must simply give him a little time, that he would get over it soon enough.”

“And – you? What did you say to that?”

“What would any woman say, if she learned her husband saw her as a penance, a bondage, a shackle around his ankle? I could not live like that, keeping him from what he wanted and never even getting what I had thought I would. I want him to be happy, I’ve always wanted that. I told him to go to Mr. Holmes, to make it up with him, and find what he wanted there. No point in making all three of us unhappy.”

“But will you be unhappy?”

She laughed. “That’s what he said. But better alone and free than knowing myself an instrument of self-torture. I can make my own living; I have before. But I need to be able to live with myself first of all.”

“You need not be entirely alone, either.”

“No?” She smiled at me. “That’s what I wanted to ask.”

“How so?” I smiled back at her, and this was not _possible_ , it was unheard of.

“I will need to work. I liked teaching. I can go to an agency if I must, but, if it is possible – if I can – could I ask at your school?”

“It isn’t mine -” My face flushed again. “It is – certainly it is a fine place to work. There may well be a space available, if not now then next year. If you would like to.”

“Violet?”

I knew what she was asking. “I would like you to.”

“Then I shall.” Her smile was beautiful, and I could feel my own reflecting it. “I can as easily find a boarding house in Walsall as London, and more cheaply. Would you mind if I returned with you?”

My chest felt tight from the wild joy trapped in it. “Yes,” I said. “Yes. I’m going back this afternoon. Alice is staying with Marianne another day.”

“Lovely,” said Mary, smiling at me. “Shall we have lunch?”

We did, and we walked a little, and Mary said, “I left my suitcases. We can take a cab for them – I might as well take this last chance to be extravagant.”

The cab took us from her house – Dr. Watson’s house – to the railway station, the train compartment was not too crowded, and I sat next to Mary for hours, talking quietly and not truly believing she was there at all. No woman had ever considered following me anywhere.

We separated in Walsall, Mary to find a boarding house and I to return to the school. Miss Martin asked after Miss Cameron when she saw I had returned alone. I considered. “She has found her sister,” I said. “She is well enough, and will return shortly. Anything else, I think she had better tell you herself.”

Alice returned, classes started again, and my life continued as usual for months more afterwards. I saw Mary on weekends and occasionally in the evening. We walked about the town, or took tea at shops, or sat in her or my room and talked, and it was all very proper and genteel. The conversations were fascinating – Mary had spent her childhood in India – and I would never have wished them away, and it was pleasant – very pleasant, lovely – to have a friend to talk to about anything and meet with regularly. We had grown close very quickly, and shortly she knew me better than any of my friends among the other teachers. I knew such an important secret about her that I suppose it felt unfair to keep anything of myself hidden. She had told her landlady that she was a widow, of course.

But of course that was not all of it. I wanted to tell her everything about myself because I wanted to make her keeper of my soul, and be the keeper of hers. When we walked arm in arm the sensation of her body next to me and the occasional brush of her hips against mine inescapably brought to my thoughts the thing we had not talked about, and when we talked together privately I desperately wanted to lean forward the few feet – sometimes the few inches – that it would take to press my lips against hers. I told myself I held back because of the chance of our being interrupted, but it was just as much from fear that she would tell me it had all been a mistake, that she did not want to so separate herself from the conventions she had lived in so long.

What I wanted to believe was that she simply needed time to recover from the loss of her marriage, and so I did not press, and waited for her to speak first.

In the meantime the term continued, classes were taught and students asked for help and the self-contained life of the school went on. No other teachers were needed just then, and I did not ask Mary if she had been looking for a position somewhere else, until she brought the matter up herself.

She was not quite looking herself one weekend, and at last she turned to me and said, “Violet, let’s go back.”

We walked back to her lodgings and she took me upstairs with her, shaking her head when I offered to leave her alone. “Sit down, please,” she told me when she had shut the door behind us. She sat next to me on the bed instead of taking the chair.

“What is it, Mary?”

“I wrote to Mrs. Forrester,” she said. “To ask for a reference. You must understand, Violet, she was not only my employer but my dearest friend when I stayed with her. I was there for six years, and she was the greatest help to me, every time I was confused. She told me to contact Mr. Holmes in the first place. She comforted me when I learned of the certain death of my father and showed the sweetest concern for me the entire time I worked for her – I hardly saw her as my employer but as my friend. And now -” Her speech suddenly broke, and she bit her lip and closed her eyes. I closed my hand over hers, but that was nothing like enough, and I reached for her shoulder and embraced her.

“Has some ill befallen her?” I asked.

“Oh no,” she said. “No it has not. Violet, of course I could not tell her all that has happened, and perhaps it would have made it worse if I had. But she told me she could not, that while she admitted I had been a fine employee and she still was fond of me she could never recommend a woman who had walked away from her marriage for any position caring for children. She advised me to return home and forgive him, and ask his forgiveness. Violet, I did _know_ everyone would think that of me but I thought -”

I kissed her. It was not what I meant to do, but her voice was beginning to break from emotion and all I could think of was to show her she was still respected and loved. I could do nothing for her loss of a mother figure, but I could do this.

She kissed me back at once, and her hands clutched my shoulders as if she had wanted to for weeks. The passion did not last long; she drew away and smiled at me, a smile that was worse than tears.

“We were still friends after my marriage,” she said. “I wanted to pattern my household after hers, to shape my life along the line of hers.” I pressed her against me, and she leaned her face against my shoulder and stopped speaking.

Eventually she added, “I was afraid of writing to Kate, to let her know what happened. She has no doubt heard by now. But she has stayed with her husband, is still with him, and the man is an opium addict.”

“You can’t compare yourself so,” I said.

“Everyone who hears of me will.”

“You said yourself it was better not to make all three of you unhappy. I don’t know your friend Kate; perhaps she believes that her husband needs her support. But you know that Dr. Watson does not need yours. You are harming no one, Mary, dearest, you do not need to believe anything they say.”

Mary held me more tightly and I held her back. We stayed in each other’s arms for long minutes, and when we moved it was only to lie down properly, to hold each other even closer, to let my body comfort hers as my words could not.

After an hour at least she sighed into my shoulder and said, “I’ve nowhere else to look for a reference, either.”

“As soon as I hear of anything at all at the school I shall ask Miss Martin,” I said. “You will have me for a reference, at least.”

She laughed a little and sighed again. I turned and kissed the side of her face. We lay together, sometimes talking and sometimes kissing and sometimes just holding each other, until the room began to darken around us.

Knowing now that I was Mary’s only option, I grew restive. The rest of the school seemed to be as well, that spring. I thought it was merely my own projection, that made Miss Martin seem as on edge as I, though rumours as usual suggested any number of things. But the headmistress asked to see me in her office one evening, and I hoped I would have an opportunity to help my friend and alleviate some of my nervous tension.

“Miss Hunter,” she said, smiling, when I entered. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you. And you?”

“Well. I am so glad you could come.” She drew in a breath. “I shall be direct. My sister’s husband has died, Miss Hunter, and she herself is in very ill health. I must go to her, for at least a few weeks and likely longer. It is terribly incon – that is, it is terrible, and I wish I did not have to abandon the school so abruptly. It cannot wait until the holidays. I’ve called you because I wish to ask you to be Deputy Headmistress, in my absence.”

“Me?” I asked. She nodded. “But I haven’t the most experience, or the longest time here -”

“No, but you are practical and efficient, and aren’t cowed by bureaucrats, which alas is a requirement of the position. You can of course refuse, but I think you are the most suited for the post. Will you do it?”

“Yes, I will,” I said.

“Oh, good. I cannot say now when I will be returning, but I will of course wire you with all the details I have. You will have to find at least one new teacher to take some of your course load. I can help a little, but I must leave quickly now that this has been settled.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that. I have a friend, you see, who needs a position. I did not promise her anything, only that I would suggest her. But if we do need another teacher, could you interview her? I should prefer to have your judgement.” I did not want anyone to say that I had hired Mary merely because of our friendship.

“Yes, of course. Thank you. Send her word that I should like to interview her, if possible. Can she come by tomorrow?”

“Yes, certainly. Thank you very much, Miss Martin.”

“Not at all. Thank me by running the school as well as I know you can. I shall prepare everything so that I can explain all the details to you tomorrow, and leave shortly after.”

“Yes, of course.”

I walked out of her office and through the hall very calmly, and then nearly skipped along the street to the telegraph office.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just How This Would End Cover Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956825) by [consultingpiskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingpiskies/pseuds/consultingpiskies)




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